


we're made of stars and sunshine

by chalantness



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Damerey Daily 2020, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22105075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: day fifteen of#damereydaily2020| prompt: there will be boys who will tell you you're beautiful, but only a few will see youSome may have called his mother a flirt, just as they call him, but Poe knows it was simply because in times of war, it was hard to recognize afriend.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Rey
Comments: 28
Kudos: 107
Collections: Damerey Daily 2020





	1. unspin the laws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 1 | january 1 | prompt: unspin the laws
> 
> I'm two days late to the party and will definitely not be able to write daily, but I still want to spread the love for the ship I've been flying since _The Force Aawakens_.

Poe doesn’t know much of the jedi other than what little Leia had shared with him in quiet, tired conversations over the fire, and, if he thinks hard enough, what stories his mother used to lull him to sleep with. Fantastical tales of the Force, of cosmic sorcery and the universe being connected by it. She painted pictures of the jedi knights who had sworn to practice and protect it, spoke of their loyalty and their honor, of their constant pull toward the light. What he most remembers, though, is the way she’d brush back his unruly curls from his face, place a helmet far too big for him on his head, and tell him that pilots were kissed by the stars and guided by the Force, too, not unlike the jedi.

When he was little, it made him feel invincible. As he grew, he learned that maybe it was her way of giving him the courage to fly, no matter the odds.

But, knowing what he does now of the jedi, or what had once been the jedi – what vows they took, what sacrifices they made in service to the Force and the Light and what their order stood for – some small, selfishly strong part of him thanks the stars that Rey didn’t have to follow those same rules.

(Not that his Sunshine does very well with them to begin with, mind you.)

But Poe thinks of Leia and of Han Solo, and of the child that may have turned their backs on them, of their love for each other that may have faltered—but he thinks of them and thinks that they _had_ that chance. They were free to love and to lose and to love again. They were free to _choose_ this path for themselves, and he knows, Poe knows with every cell in his body that Leia, had she chosen to continue the path with her brother, that her dedication to the Light and the Force wouldn’t have been dampened simply because she was a wife and a mother. Having a family, having something other than the Force to fight for, wouldn’t have been a weakness. It wouldn’t have caused Leia to stray from what she was dedicated to. If Leia had lived in the time when the jedi laws were still in place, she wouldn’t have had the chance to walk the same path as Luke.

And to Poe, that would have been a damn shame.

Just as it would have been a damn shame for Rey to sacrifice even _more_ – to give up her chance at love and a family – in order to follow the Light.

It would have been _ridiculous_. Rey _is_ the Light. Rey, _his_ Rey, is made of stars and sunshine, born from every sun in the galaxy.

She deserves the _whole damn universe_. She doesn’t have to sacrifice, to make some vow, to let her choices be taken away, to prove her worth or her loyalty.

She’s enough. She’s more than enough, and he can’t imagine a life where he doesn’t belong to her as much as she belongs to him. Because she does. She’s _his_. She’s his warmth and his light and his center of orbit, and when he thinks of some archaic belief that might have, once upon a time, gotten in the way of that? Of _them?_

He _laughs_.

No jedi law would stand a chance.

“I can hear you thinking, flyboy,” a voice mumbles into his skin, lips curving against his collarbone, and Poe feels his smile stretching as lithe, slender fingers find the curls of his hair with ease, combing into them, twisting them in their grip, the smooth pad of her thumb brushing over his temple, over and over. He glances down at his chest where Rey is curled against him, half on top of him, face pressed against his neck, hair tickling his skin, and he runs his palm up the curve of her spine, pulling her closer, brushing a kiss against her tangled hair. She lifts her head, twirls his curls around her fingers as she peers up at him. “What could possibly be bothering you first thing in the morning?”

She’s smiling, though, because his sunshine is _always_ smiling, and his smile widens at the sight of her, at the pink in her cheeks and the way her eyelids are still a little heavy with sleep, even as she holds his gaze.

“Nothing is,” he corrects, arm hooking around her waist, and she lets out a peel of laughter, light and delighted and pure music to his ears, as he rolls them over. His hips slot into place between her thighs, and he hopes he _never_ gets over the little thrill that swoops in his stomach when their bodies fit together with ease. “I was just— _thinking_.”

Rey presses her delicate lips together, eyes twinkling in a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I gathered that much.” She arches an eyebrow. “What about, exactly?”

He shrugs, nuzzles his face against her cheek and presses a gentle kiss there. “Impossible things,” he mumbles, breathing in her sweet scent.

“Ah.” Her breath is warm against his ear. “Impossible things, such as your hopes of getting to sleep in before sunrise now that we’ve got a little pilot on the way?”

He laughs, the sound coming out of him in a loud burst, and he lifts himself up, just enough to slide his hands down her body, cradling her stomach and the very faint, very firm curve forming there. He always hesitates to touch her there, but in the same way his hand always hesitates over the controls of his X-wing, as if his entire body is holding its breath in anticipation, itching for the free-fall of sensations, craving the dizzy blur of stars outside his cockpit as he swoops and soars in the sky. He’s ready. He’s _ready_.

And even if he wasn’t from the start – even if he wasn’t counting down the days, the hours, the damn _seconds_ until their little jedi is in the world – he’d get there, eventually.

With Rey, how could he not?

“Are you kidding?” He curls forward, pressing his face into her stomach, dropping a kiss there before flashing his teeth in a smile as he peers up at Rey. Her smile is wide, too, her hands coming down to comb into his hair, cradling him in her hands. “I can’t wait until I have a little comet to run after.”

“Hm,” she hums, feigning doubt as her eyes twinkle in excitement, in _hope_ , “I’m certain your enthusiasm for losing sleep goes against some rules of parenting somewhere.”

He kisses her stomach again, then gently, gently nips at her skin, relishing in the peel of laughter that spills from her lips as her body jerks in response, curling toward him, drawing him in close once more. “Well, sunshine,” he says, bringing his face to hers, tasting her smile on his lips, “it’s a good thing I don’t mind spinning a few laws.”


	2. you are the best thing that’s ever been mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 5 | january 5 | prompt: you are the best thing that’s ever been mine
> 
> I'm a little bit obsessed with the post- _The Last Jedi_ , pre- _The Rise of Skywalker_ timeline where Rey, Poe, and Finn start to become The Trio, so here's a scene that I've been imagining in the early stages of that period.

They’ll have the droid to thank, Poe is almost certain of that.

He could pick out BB-8 and his excited chirps anywhere, no matter how loud, and he doesn’t really care if people think he’s exaggerating about that. Yeah, most droids tend to sound the same, but this is different. This is _his_ droid, _his_ buddy, the one that rolls at his side, in his shadow, almost every hour of the day. BB-8 has been there through every death-defying stunt, has been stranded on a different planet than him, dragged across space, and still made his way back, because that’s just what they do. That’s what they _always_ do, so, yeah, him and his droid are closer than most, and Poe doesn’t think it’s ridiculous. His little buddy is pretty much an extension of himself at this point and, yeah.

(When he thinks back on it, he should’ve known, should’ve seen it _written in the stars_ , that there was a reason his droid became so enamored with Rey.)

Poe hasn’t seen BB-8 all day, but the moment he’s outside, he can pick those beeps out among the chatter and chaos of the base. There are creatures chirping in the jungle and recruits training and engineers barking orders at each other, but he can hear it, clear across the expanse of field that’s become kind of the common area of the base when their teams need to meet, and he feels himself smiling before he’s even picked his little buddy out among the greenery. BB-8 sounds _happy_ and it’s pretty damn infectious.

“Bud!” Poe says, ducking under a low branch, following the happy whirs of his droid as BB-8 comes into view between the trees. “I was wondering where you rolled off to.”

“Sorry,” a voice laughs, and Poe tells himself he’s not holding his breath a little, tells himself that his heart doesn’t skip a damn beat as his eyes find Rey only a few steps away, her cheeks flushed, her hair coming out of her buns in loose curls. Her lips are parted from her workout, just a little bit wet from her tongue, and he—

He _stops_ thinking for a second or two.

“BB followed me out into the clearing this morning and never quite made it back after I started training,” Rey tells him, sounding slightly breathless, eyelashes fluttering as she squints against the sunlight poking through the trees overhead.

BB-8 swivels to look at Poe, beeping quickly, excitedly, launching into a story of watching Rey run across logs and jump through trees, and Poe lets out a low whistle. He’s impressed, genuinely impressed, and he’s been impressed by just about everything when it comes this woman, since the moment he saw how BB-8 beeped up at her in pure adoration. Or maybe since he followed the light, _literally_ followed the light up through the rocks to see her standing there with and boulders floating in the air around them.

“You make it sound more exciting than it actually was, B,” Rey laughs, her smile growing wider, her cheeks flushing pinker, and she holds his gaze for a breath longer before ducking her head, exhaling something that might sound like a nervous exhale, except there’s no way, _no way_ that he has that effect on her.

No way.

“Actually, I think the droid might not be excited _enough_ ,” Poe tells her with a wink, feeling younger, lighter, _brighter_ than he has in years, he’s certain.

BB-8 whirs, chirping indignantly. Rey _laughs_ , and Poe thinks his brain short-circuits, just for a second.

“He didn’t mean it, B,” Rey promises the droid, kneeling down, running her small hand over the smooth curve of metal in a comforting stroke, and, Poe was wrong because _this_. This moment right here, watching Rey giving BB-8 a patient, adoring sort of smile— _this_ is the moment his brain truly short-circuits. “He just wants you back, is all.”

“No.” The word catches in his throat, which feels just a bit tighter than it did a moment before, and when BB-8 swivels to look at him as Rey lifts her head to do the same, her eyes finding his under those long, long eyelashes of hers, Poe has to remember how to _breathe_. “My droid is your droid, right, bud?”

BB-8 beeps in agreement, swiveling to face Rey, nudging her with a playful roll, and Rey’s eyes are sparkling as she gives the droid another rub before straightening back up.

“At the risk of interrupting your whole jedi, one-with-the-Force workout right now,” Poe says, waving his hand in a vague gesture through the clearing she and BB-8 had been running around all day, feeling this odd current of energy in his fingertips, humming in his veins and growing wilder as Rey holds his stare with that sunshine smile of hers. “Maybe you want to wrap it up for the day? Grab a bite, take a breath, and maybe help Rose out in the hanger because she’s been asking for you for a few hours and—what?”

His chest squeezes, his heart tripping at the flicker in her expression, at the confusion and the awe that flashes through her eyes. She looks _stunned_.

“What is it?” he asks, voice softer now, because he thinks he knows her thoughts a little bit, in this moment, as her expression softens and shifts, maybe crumples ever so slightly at the edges, only to be replaced with something brighter, so much brighter, somehow.

“Nothing,” she says quickly, but then blinks under his unwavering stare, shaking her head ever so slightly, breathing out a laugh. “I’m still not used to being _needed_ , I guess.”

BB-8 swivels to look at her, chirping quickly, reassuringly, and Rey rubs her lips together as she touches his antenna, gentle and affectionate. “Thanks, B.”

Poe steps closer, catching her attention, and somehow, by some miracle, he doesn’t completely lose his voice and his every thought as he gently, so gently takes her hand in his, their palms brushing together, their fingers twining. He gives her a little squeeze and he can see the moment that something deep and dark and haunted inside of her unlatches, maybe for the first time ever, and truly starts to dissolve. “I’m no smooth-talker like the droid,” he says, earning a soft laugh, and it feels like the exact same kind of rush that he’s only ever found in his X-wing, diving through the stars, “but I promise you that you’re definitely needed. You’re one of us, which means we’re yours, too.”

Her eyelashes flutter, and he swears he watches her lips form the word, “ _mine_ ,” as that look of awe flickers in her wide eyes again.

BB-8 nudges Rey again, pulling her attention toward him, and Poe feels his smile widen as he watches his droid chirp happily up at Rey, and if he’s somehow dreaming all of this, if he’s only dreaming of the way her hand tightens in his, then he doesn’t ever want to wake up.

_ Yeah, sunshine. Yours. _


	3. i know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 9 | january 9 | prompt: I know
> 
> I think I got too literal with this prompt, but, whatever. It's _iconic_.

He remembers the moment she told him, her gaze hopeful, _so hopeful_ , tears dotting her dark lashes like the stars had gotten caught in her eyes.

He remembers the way he’d felt odd all day that day, like something hard was lodged in his chest, growing bigger and heavier every time he watched Rey slip away. He knew that that’s how she was sometimes, that she just needed to be in her own head every now and then. She spent so many years alone, just her and her own thoughts to get her through each day, and old habits were hard to kick. He got it. _He got it_ , and so he tried not to take it personally, tried to fight that eerie feeling he got, watching her leave and remembering all the times she’d done that before and nearly gotten herself killed. And he really, _really_ tried to fight the memory of the one time that she _did_ leave and she _did_ die and everyone, _everyone_ heard it, the way his heart broke right along with Finn’s when his best friend’s voice cracked through the comms saying that he felt it, _he felt Rey die_ , and Poe died a little, too. Maybe they all did, because nothing could describe the stillness in the atmosphere when the Resistance thought they’d lost their light forever.

But, no. _No_.

His sunshine was alive, she was more alive than ever, burning brighter than ever, and as he’d stared into those big eyes brimming with emotion, her fingers latched into the material of his shirt like a lifeline, and felt her heart beating right against his as she whispered that they were going to be a family. They were going to have _a child_.

He remembers everything about that day, remembers how he fretted and he worried, and he knows he’d do it all over again.

He’d go through that entire day all over again, every agonizing, awful second of stirring in those old worries and in that old grief, just to relive the moment that his sunshine, his light, _his wife_ , told him that she was pregnant. It was worth it. For Rey, it would _always_ be worth it, and he knows that now more than ever, now that he’s more or less gotten the feeling back in his hand from the way Rey gripped it, practically broke his bones as she groaned and pushed, but he’d do it, he’d let her break every single bone in his body if it meant it could help her. (And he really doesn’t care what anyone says—his sunshine shouldn’t be crying, shouldn’t look like she’s _dying_ when she’s giving birth.)

“Terrifying,” he murmurs into the sweaty, tangled mess of hair that Rose had braided for Rey sometime between all the fuss and visitors, and Rey glances at him, only for a second, and it’s because he knows that she’s feeling the way he does in this moment. That she can’t bring herself to look away from the little girl cradled in her arms.

“Terrifying?” Rey echoes, voice soft, brushing her fingertips over their daughter’s thin, dark curls, touching her round cheek. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a baby.”

“Oh, I definitely am,” he chuckles, tucking Rey closer to his chest, holding his wife and his daughter just a little bit tighter in his arms as he turns his head slightly, nuzzles his face against Rey’s soft, flushed cheek as he keeps his eye on their daughter. “Maybe more than I’m scared of you.” Rey huffs his name, lips pulling into a wider, brighter smile as she tries and fails to hide her amusement, and he brushes his lips to her temple. “This whole damn day was terrifying, sunshine. I don’t know if I could go through it again.”

“ _You?_ ” His wife is trembling with laughter that she’s just barely holding back as she pulls back to raise an eyebrow at him. “I’m sorry, which one of us gave birth today?”

“You nearly broke my hand in the middle of it,” he points out, grinning wider as he watches those flames flicker in her eyes, blazing bright, just like the sunshine she is.

“Because I had to push a _human_ out of me,” she retorts, her glare playful and so damn beautiful, “and I’ve seen you try to fly with a dislocated shoulder before.”

“Hey, I’m not saying I wouldn’t have made it work.”

“Oh, would you? You would have found a way to hold your daughter with a broken hand?” Rey asks, her expression light, so damn _light_ and happy and full of life, and his hand is cupping the back of her head before he can quite blink, and he kisses her next words right out from her lungs. She makes this little noise in her throat, tipping forward, tongue sweeping past his lips as she meets his kiss breath for breath, until the second he pulls away. “You can’t just kiss me when you don’t want to argue with me anymore, flyboy.”

His laugh bursts from his lungs, the sound making their daughter startle a little, squirming in distress until Rey strokes her finger over her round, pink cheek to soothe her.

“I’ll always want to argue with you, sunshine,” he says, resting his forehead against hers again, “because I’d rather argue with you every day than never hear your voice.”

“That doesn’t sound as romantic as you think it does,” Rey teases, and he knows she’s teasing, because he knows his wife like he knows his own heart, but also because he can see the adoration, the pure affection, pure _love_ , shining right there in her eyes, as deep and endless as the galaxy.

He tips his lips up, brushes a kiss over the bridge of her nose. “I know,” he murmurs, before turning his head to look down at their daughter again, watching as Rey takes her little fist in her hand and strokes her thumb over her tiny fingers. “ _Terrifying_ ,” he says again, pulling his wife and his daughter even closer to him, and it should make him feel the most terrified yet, holding his whole world against his chest like this. But it doesn’t, not at all. It makes him feel like light itself. “But I’d do it again, a dozen times over.”

Rey laughs, quiet and breathless and beautiful, always beautiful—and when she whispers those two little words, he knows that her heart is in the same place as his.

_I know you’d do it all over again, a dozen times, a hundred times, until we had as many children as there are stars in the galaxy._

_I know you would’ve held your daughter even if every bone in your body was broken_ , _because if anyone could have found a way, it would be you._

_I know you want it all, and I want it all with you, too._

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a useless announcement so that my subconscious feels a tiny bit more pressured to be efficient, but, the rest of the prompts I plan to fill for January are for Days 12, 14, 15, 16, 19, 20, 27, and 31.
> 
> Some days might be added or swapped or scrapped. We'll see how it goes.


	4. sometimes a feeling is all we humans have to go on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 12 | january 12 | prompt: sometimes a feeling is all we humans have to go on
> 
> I gave the "maybe they don't want kids and that's 100% fine" trope a shot and liked it but also I think it fueled my want to write about them actually having kids, too. So here's more baby-themed fluff.

They don’t talk about it, though not out of avoidance, or stubbornness, or _fear_ , but simply because it was never time to. There were still jokes, of course – times when Rey would go looking for BB-8 around the base and someone would tell her that “her son” went that way, when D-O rolled in excited circles around Poe as he got out of his X-wing and Poe laughed and told the droid that he “missed you, too, kiddo.” Then there was an almost-conversation, one that had happened in the weeks following the fall of the Final Order, when the Resistance base was buzzing once more, but this time with a new light, a new hope that was brighter and louder and full of wonderful chaos like never before. Families were flown in from almost every corner of the galaxy to be reunited, and soon enough, little ones had taken up every inch of the base, wild and playful and full of life.

On one of those first nights, Rey happened upon Poe among a gaggle of children, the youngest girl perched on his knee as they sat in a circle in the middle of the greenery and Poe painted them a fantastical tale of one of their earlier missions that had gone awry, but of course the daring heroes had made it out unscathed.

(And it felt good, _so good_ to be able to smile about it, to take a memory that had once been tainted in their near-death escape and to tell it themselves, in a way that caused for laughter rather than worry. To be able to look back on these moments in time and find a light in them that hadn’t been there before they’d reached the end of the war.)

Rey remembers how the children, excited and newly energized from Poe’s tales, had squealed and begun to chase after BB-8 and D-O, eager for their imaginations to take them on their own missions, on their own adventures – all but one. The little girl was content to remain perched on Poe’s knee, and, in fact, her eyes seemed to shine brighter and her smile grew pinker and wider now that Poe’s attention was solely on her. She was _little_ , could manage only a few words strung together in something that resembled a sentence, but Poe chattered on as if he understood her perfectly, as if they were having the most intriguing conversation in the galaxy, and when Rey settled beside him on the log, he didn’t miss a beat, almost didn’t pause to breathe as he drew her close and introduced the little girl to Rey, and her tiny little hand reached for her, and Rey just—

She _melted_.

She had a feeling Poe had sensed it then, too, when he turned to press his smiling lips to her cheek in a kiss, in a gesture that seemed suspiciously like a promise.

Now she _knows_ that’s what it had been: a promise for them to have this conversation, sooner or later, but they _would_ have it, because he knew that what he wanted was what she wanted, too. When they were ready, and now, they were. They _are_.

“Boy,” Rose declares in the same breath Jannah says, “Girl, definitely a girl” – and both women glance at each other, smiles wide, before dissolving into another fit of laughter.

“Look at her,” Finn says, hand gesturing, “her skin is glowing. She’s definitely got a boy in there.”

Rey wrinkles her nose at him and wiggles a little, shifting to get more comfortable as she leans back against Poe’s chest, his arm draped casually over her shoulder, holding onto one of her hands with one of his as he spoons stew into his mouth with the other, feeding her every other bite. She hasn’t had much of an appetite these days, not the way she used to, thanks to waves of morning sickness that seem to come and go at any time of the day and have for almost two weeks, and Poe takes it in stride, avoiding the foods that tend to make her stomach turn these days, getting as much in her when she can hold it down and retrieving any and every craving she has, no matter the hour.

Her nausea seems to have Jannah convinced that Rey is carrying a girl, while Rose says that her frequent cravings are a sign that there’s a boy in there. Rey has heard of every superstition from every corner of the galaxy, it seems, in the last few weeks since the gender of the baby has become a favorite topic around the base.

She and Poe even entertained one themselves once, sliding Shara’s wedding ring off of Rey’s finger and stringing it onto the thin, metal chain that Poe still wears around his neck, dangling it over Rey’s belly and watching it swing back and forth, declaring their growing little pilot a girl. Poe and Rey had shared a soft smile, the feeling passing over them as they entertained it in their own thoughts, the idea of a little girl with her eyes and his wild curls, and then the moment had dissolved into laughter as Poe had slid the ring back onto Rey’s finger and settled beside her in bed, his hand on the curve of her stomach as she shared that she _had_ thought of a name, if they do have a daughter.

“Kara, like Kes and Shara,” she’d told him, and Poe had kissed her and kissed her and _kissed_ her, first hard and deep, then slow and languid and reverent.

She knew exactly what he felt about her choice, could almost taste it in the way it emanated from him, but still, he murmured, “I love it, sunshine, I just— _thank you._ I love it. I love _you_ ,” into her neck when he pressed his face there like he did when he was feeling particularly overwhelmed.

Like he’s doing _now_ , setting his spoon down to press his hand to her stomach in the exact moment that their little jedi kicks against his palm, and Rey gets a thrill every single time because it’s as if Poe just _knows_ when their little one is moving around in there, wanting their attention, already wanting to be out in the galaxy to be with them. His lips brush to the pulse in her neck, his curls tickling her skin, and, with their friends chattering and distracted, she whispers, “Kara always kicks as soon as she hears their voices.”

Poe chuckles, the sound tingling her neck as he lifts his head to grin that boyish, crooked grin at her. “It’s her way of asking her aunts and uncles to shut it.”

“ _Poe_ ,” Rey breathes, her half-hearted reprimand dissolving into a laugh as their baby kicks against Poe’s palm again. “She doesn’t like it when you’re being mean.”

“Nah, she’s agreeing with her old man,” Poe says, but his smile softens at the edges, his thumb rubbing in a circle over her stomach through the thin material of her wrap. “ _She_ , huh? Is that just another guess or is it—”

“A feeling?” she finishes, blinking, eyes blurring at the edges as she can feel happy, hopeful tears starting to gather in her eyes, and every ounce of awe that she feels is reflected in his wide, bright, burning gaze as he holds her stare, their daughter moving in her mama’s stomach, under her papa’s hand. “Yeah. It’s definitely a _feeling_.”


	5. there will be boys who will tell you you're beautiful, but only a few will see you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 15 | january 15 | prompt: there will be boys who will tell you you're beautiful, but only a few will see you
> 
> I've always been called a flirt when I never knew why, so if this prompt feels vent-y and not super coherent then maybe I was getting a little cathartic with it? But I tried. I really tried.

Poe knows that he’s a flirt.

It’s something he’s been told a dozen, a hundred, a _thousand_ times by anyone and everyone. By those who have just met him and by those who have known him for years, by those who admire him for it and by those who find it distasteful, that see it as him trying to take advantage, as him yet again trying to skirt through consequences as if he has an inkling of how to even _do_ that, because honestly, he _doesn’t_. He’s lived through every reckless impulse through a little skill and mostly luck, and, now that he knows what it is for certain, because of the Force – _and_ , Poe likes to believe, because of the will of his mama as she watches over him from the stars, lining up every single odd in his favor.

He knows his mama is keeping him alive through the same stubbornness that she passed onto her son, just as she passed on her charm, her ability to _flirt_ , and maybe that’s why Poe never thought of it as something to be wary of.

He’s heard of how his mother brought a smile to everyone she met, and it’s always been the clearest thing in his mind, no matter how hazy or disoriented or lost. He remembers her _smile_ , brighter than any star, brighter than _all_ the stars, and he remembers that even when she was upset, even when she was mad, her eyes were twinkling and light with the traces of a laugh that never seemed to fade, not really. Not enough for Poe to forget how her voice sounded when she told tales and wove stories. His papa told him countless stories of how his mama made friends with the unlikeliest allies and how she inspired courage and fostered hope from every small corner of the galaxy.

Some may have called his mother a flirt, just as they call him, but Poe knows it was simply because in times of war, it was hard to recognize a _friend_.

But Poe knows without a doubt that, this boy, right here?

He’s a _flirt_.

“Poe,” a voice murmurs into his ear, lilting, amused, and Poe tries to, he _really_ tries to hold his scowl in place, but it melts as soon as his wife touches his cheek, gently scratching at the stubble along his jaw before guiding him to meet her smiling, smiling face, and, _stars_ , is she beautiful.

“You can sense it, can’t you?” he asks, nodding at the boy across the field again, the one who keeps glancing at Rey, and Poe, before darting away.

“I’m not quite sure what you think _I_ can sense,” she says, her shoulders shaking slightly, her voice quivering with the laughter she’s only barely managing to contain, and, well, at least can appreciate her not outright giggling in his face over this. _Again_. “But _he_ can certainly sense your wariness as you _stare_ at him. Poe, he’s harmless.”

“No, he’s—” Poe sputters, shakes his head and licks the corner of his lips and tries glancing in that direction, but Rey keeps her hand pressed against his cheek, keeps his eyes on her, and he squints a little at that twinkle in her eyes. Looking at her has always felt a little bit like staring into a sun, and he knows he’d gladly go blind if it means that she is the last thing he ever sees. “Okay, maybe this is something _you_ can’t sense, Miss Jedi,” he says, earning an arch of her eyebrow, “but I’m telling you, _I_ can. I can sense it.”

“Two days ago, you liked him,” Rey points out.

“Two days ago, he wasn’t being a flirt.”

This time, Rey _does_ laugh, cupping his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his stubbled jaw, and despite the fact that it’s because of him, that it’s _about_ him, he reaches up and grasps her wrists and breathes out a laugh with her. “You trust me, right?”

“More than I could ever trust myself, sunshine,” he says easily, without missing a beat, without missing a breath, because if there’s one thing that Poe knows deep down in his blood and bones will never change it’s that this woman, right here, has his heart in the palm of her hands.

“And you trust your _daughter_ , don’t you?”

Poe groans. “Okay, yes, but—”

“Flyboy, look at her,” Rey tells him, guiding him by his chin to look back across the field, watching as his daughter gently, playfully nudges her elbow against the boy’s shoulder, and his body sort of just – _melts_ a little at that touch, at her laugh, every bit of nervousness and hesitation dissolving from his face. Poe remembers what little Rey had been able to gather from him in the two days since Finn had brought him to the temple on Yavin IV, how his Force sensitivity had felt like something strange and scary and that his parents had felt that he’d become withdrawn from others, hesitant and distant, because of it. Because he was worried that his strangeness would scare them off.

Now, though—now, Poe watches as the kid smiles for the very first time, _laughs_ for the very first time, bursting and loud, almost startling himself with the pure joy of it.

All because of their daughter.

It doesn’t surprise him, but it never, ever ceases to amaze him, to _awe_ him, how much light and energy and hope that Kara emanates. How her little body has held more kindness in it from the moment she was born than ever existed in the entire galaxy.

He remembers her at two, her cheeks round and pink, her curls short and wild, patiently picking out blades of grass from D-O’s wheel after they played in the fields.

He remembers her at seven, staring up at him from under those long, long eyelashes of hers and asking him if they could go racing another day, because four-year-old Lana was sick and Kara didn’t want to fly the speeder with papa if her little sister wasn’t feeling well enough to fly with them, too.

And he remembers her at ten, finding him in the twins’ room in the middle of the night, cradling both fussing eight-month-olds against his chest, and his daughter took one of her baby brothers from him and helped her papa put them both back to sleep instead of going to wake her mama, who’d been feeling ill all day and needed to sleep.

Kara is made of stardust and kindness, and Poe knows it’s a spitting image of her grandmother – a spitting image of _him_ – as she bats those long eyelashes of hers and laughs, and _flirts_ , and it makes that wary young boy feel comfortable for perhaps the first time in his life.

“He needs a friend right now,” Rey tells Poe, arms winding around his waist, and Poe feels her press against him, feels her burrow into his side as he turns his head, his eyes still on his daughter’s smiling, smiling face as he presses a kiss to his wife’s cheek. “I remember being like him and needing someone like her. Someone like _you_.”

Poe grins, leaning into brush his lips against hers. “Bonus for him: she’s a lot prettier than I am.”

“Oh, I don’t know, flyboy,” Rey says with a laugh, pushing a hand into his hair and twirling her finger in the curls as she tips her head back to meet his gaze. “I’ve always found your face quite nice, and lucky for me, you were just as beautiful on the inside as you were on the outside.”

Poe chuckles, tucking her closer against his chest. “You may be the first and only being in this galaxy to ever think that, sunshine.”

“Maybe,” she murmurs, brushing her thumb against the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head to kiss her palm, grinning against it, “and not everyone will always appreciate how beautiful our daughter—our _children_ —are, inside and out. But the most important part is that her mama and papa always will, won’t we?”

“Always, sunshine,” Poe says, leaning his head against hers as they both turn to look at their daughter again, her beautiful laugh ringing out into the air, “ _always_.”


End file.
